all is well
by DaydreamScribe
Summary: After of years of drug abuse, House pays the ultimate price. SEASON 5 with spoilers for 4. Dark themes dealing with illness and death.


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own or profit from, anything that is written hereon.**

**SUMMARY: After of years of drug abuse, House pays the ultimate price.**

**WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4. Dark themes that deal with illness and death. Bromance.  
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**A/N: I began writing this awhile ago and have just kinda been adding on every now and then (I had a bad case of WB so it was never much). I apologize for any disjointedness or inconsistencies that may be present.**

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**all . is . well**

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"…and if I had, had my way you wouldn't have gotten one more scrip after that whole Tritter debacle…"

House idly noted the way the neck of Cuddy's blouse widened as she folded her arms in annoyance. It was just the right amount to barely display shiny, black material. If he could think properly he would make some sort of remark about ripe produce, but the pain won out on that and he instead winced as the volume of her voice increased a few million decibels, making his headache grow.

"House!"

He lazily slid his eyes upward, wondering which offense she was calling him out on: ignoring her or staring at her chest. She sighed exasperatedly, and gave him the same look she gave him every time she believed him to be in the wrong and just too stubborn to admit it.

"I'm not giving you another scrip, I just gave you a months worth last week and you'll just have to make it last." He frowned in annoyance. He'd already gone through half the bottle and it felt as if he'd have to down the other half just to get rid of the headache she was causing him. She seated herself behind her desk, clearly about to dismiss him. "I'm doing this for your own good." House, disgruntled, remembered another time when a woman had done what was 'for his own good' and he woke up from a coma with a chunk of his leg missing. He turned to leave, holding in the hiss of pain that came from setting his foot on the ground. "And you won't find any loopholes, I've already informed all the nursing staff, pharmacy staff, AND your entire team, that they are not to give in." He barely felt the flare of anger that resulted from those words. His entire mind was focusing on walking steadily - well as steadily as he usually walked with his cane. As soon as he stepped out of the room he was ambushed by his team who were throwing out facts and results about their current case that might as well have been gobbledygook. He silently put up with it until he reached the elevator at which point he twisted around to face them.

"I am going home, I will be back Monday. But keep up with the…" he waved his hand airily. "Whatever it is you're doing." The elevator dinged and ignoring the looks they were giving him, he turned and stepped on.

"But his kidneys are failing, what are we supposed to-" He cut the younger man off.

"Oh I'm sorry I thought I hired a qualified medical team." His voice turned cold and he narrowed his eyes at them. "Figure it out. You don't need to hold Daddy's hand for everything."

"House…" Foreman began, but the elevator dinged and the door closed between them. House took the solitude to let out a groan of pain that had been building up all day. He gripped his leg desperately and momentarily let everything he was feeling cross his face. He instinctually fished the orange bottle out of his pocket and flipped the lid up, pouring out three of the pain relievers and choking them down dryly. He stared, depressed, at the small amount of pills left and swore that would be his last for the day. He'd have to just drink himself to sleep that night.

The journey home was more than a little foggy, but to his knowledge he hadn't hit any pedestrians or gotten into any sort of wreck so his driving autopilot was still in good condition. He more or less stumbled up to his apartment and immediately grabbed the fullest bottle of liquor before crashing onto his bed. It was a good fifteen minutes before he turned himself over and unscrewed the bottle cap, pouring the clear liquid into his mouth. He nearly choked, being flat on his back, but managed to get the technique just right so that he didn't have to move none but his arm to get completely smashed.

Time was melding into one long continuous fog and as he opened his eyes from what seemed like one very long blink, sunlight was streaming through the plastic slats of his blinds. He stared listlessly at the ceiling until he suddenly realized he was on the floor. He blinked in confusion and then his other senses began to kick in and he felt the searing pain in his thigh, a pounding headache right behind his eyes, and a burning in his left hand. His head felt like a boulder as he flopped it over to the side to look at his hand. Shimmering pieces of glass caught the light from their new home in his flesh. There was a small pool of blood in his palm and on the floor. He closed his eyes tiredly and in a few seconds, was passed out again.

The phone rang and he jumped awake, the remnants of a nightmare still on the forefront of his mind. It faded quickly enough though and he realized he hadn't moved one bit since he had last awoken. There were six more rings and then it was silent. He swallowed thickly, barely able to muster up enough saliva to get the process to work properly.

He hurt. Everywhere. There were certain places that hurt more than others, but it was unanimous that everything hurt. He took deep breaths as he stared up at the ceiling, and then suddenly sat up. He cried out in pain as everything protested the movement, then he had to keep from falling right back down as the pain seemed to triple. He had to hold back sobs as he began moving himself onto the bed, supporting all his weight with his left leg and his right arm. He managed to land face down on the mattress, but the feeling of accomplishment wore off as he noted the pool of vomit the side of his face was currently pressed against. The stench that close to his nose made him dry heave a few times and it took all he had left to turn onto his back, away from the regurgitated ham sandwich.

His cell phone began vibrating somewhere on his nightstand, the Siman Tov identifying the person on the other end as Taub. House could see his phone, but there was no way in hell he could muster any energy up to reach for it. As it continued ringing, he began singing along to it, his voice nothing more than a rasp. It ended much too soon for his liking. For ten minutes he kept his eyes glued to the tiny contraption, willing it to ring once more so he wouldn't feel as depressed as he was. It didn't though and he found his eyes drifting closed.

The next time he awoke it was far more turbulent. He couldn't take anything in except an immense pain in his chest and an inability to take in one bit of air. Then there was darkness.

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"He's waking up."

The accent he could do without, but just the fact that he was hearing anything, was relief. He didn't open his eyes right away, instead trying to feel out who was in the room.

"House." Of course she was there; you'd have to handcuff her to keep her from running to the side of a broken man. He could feel her smaller hand holding his own and if he had enough strength he would tug it away. Instead he opted for opening his eyes.

"Wha-" His throat felt like someone had tried strangling him in his sleep and he began coughing before he could get his first remark out. A paper cup of water appeared at his lips, the hand holding it connected to the only member of his new team without a Y chromosome. He grudgingly sipped the water, looking around the room with fuzzy vision. Kutner, Taub, and Foreman were in the corner, probably betting on how long he had left to live. Cameron and Thirteen were bedside, with Chase off to the side looking over his chart. It was pressingly silent. "What seems to be the problem, doc?" He rasped out, attempting to be mocking, but only succeeding in sounding pitiful.

"We've-" The Australian began, but was quickly overridden by his girlfriend.

"Your liver is failing."

House saw the expectant looks on their faces, as if they thought he would break down and begin repenting right then and there. Instead he took a deep breath and with narrowed eyes look around at the group.

"And?"

"And…" Cameron breathed, somewhere between shocked and annoyed by his reaction. "You're dying, House."

He sighed and rested his head back, closing his eyes. Everything was pleasantly painless. He didn't even feel what had become a constant throbbing in his right thigh. If dying felt this good, he wasn't sure he cared if he got better. "Taub." He opened his eyes to look at the ex-plastic surgeon. "Call up one of your lawyer brothers and send him my way." The man gave his normal annoyed expression at House's assumption that since he was Jewish he had lawyers in the family - even if it was true.

"Sure thing, House." With that he left, Kutner following him like a lost puppy. House turned his eyes to Thirteen who was staring at him with a new light in her eyes. He knew she now saw him as a kindred spirit, as they were both dying, though he would go quite a few years before her.

"The patient?"

"Cuddy gave the case to Thompson." She answered quickly. "House, you don't have to hold it in, if you do-"

"Oh will crying and feeling sorry for myself get me a new liver? I'm dying now, not ten to fifteen years from now! I think that might give me a right to act however I want." His words seemed to almost wound her and after a few beats she left the room.

"House-"

"Oh put a sock in it." He turned his head away from the blonde and closed his eyes. After awhile he heard the three doctors leave, Foreman stating to the other two that they shouldn't expect him to change just because he's dying. 'House is just House' were his exact words and the dying man couldn't help but feel that even if he was soon to become worm food that a small part of himself would live on in Foreman.

He drifted for awhile, very little running through his head - perhaps due to the morphine that was coursing through his system, or perhaps he just had known deep down that if continued on the way he was, something like this was bound to happen. Either way, he didn't feel much more than exhaustion and boredom.

After what could have been any length of time, his new team returned, Kutner holding a tray of something that smelled like sweaty socks, but House knew was supposed to be his lunch - or dinner.

"Here you go, big guy." Kutner said cheerily as he placed the tray on the bed table. House was joined by the others with giving him an 'are you alright?' look. The young doctor looked around at them, "What?" House rolled his eyes and raised his good hand to push the tray away.

"I'm not hungry."

"You should really eat something." Thirteen said lifting the cover off of the tray in some attempt to entice him. Instead the smell became worse, the sweat socks growing mold and being soaked in urine, and went right to his stomach, and his nausea must have shown as in an instant a bowl was being held under his mouth. He only dry heaved, as there was nothing else to come up. Somebody finally moved the "food" away from him and his nausea subsided. He pushed the bowl away and glared at the woman.

Taub spoke up then, apparently feeling for the young doctor and wanting to take House's ire off of her. "I called my cousin Daniel. He said he could stop by in a few hours. He said that if you have any documents already written up to have someone bring them over." House nodded, giving him a look that could be construed as appreciative. "Is there anything that-" As he spoke the glass door slid open behind them and they all turned to see who was there.

Silence stretched.

"Hi."

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"Leave." The three doctors nodded and turned to go, but House stopped them. "Not you." He turned cobalt eyes to the newcomer. "You."

"House, I am not leaving."

"It's too late for that." Wilson sighed dejectedly and gave the other three doctors a pleading look. They shared glances between each other for a few moments before slipping past the oncologist and leaving them alone. "I didn't know you visited acquaintances in the hospital."

"You're lying there, dying, and you can't act like an adult for once in your life?" Something in hearing those words from his best friend made House inwardly cringe. Outwardly he just turned his eyes away, opting to watch his EKG, amusement flitting through him as he realized that his life was truly nothing more than an electrical blip on a monitor.

"Funny…I don't recall you treating any of your cancer buddies like that."

"My cancer buddies aren't PhD's who knowingly shovel thousands of milligrams of acetaminophen into their liver everyday for 8 years." The coldness of the statement must have hit the oncologist as near the end his tone faltered. For a moment House waited for an apology or some statement of understanding why he had done what he'd done. The silence stretched until House had to break it. He turned to look at his long-time friend.

"I want you to take Steve." Brown eyes narrowed in confusion before they softened in comprehension.

"Why? You know I hate that rat."

"There's no one else." His throat tightened uncomfortably as he spoke and he felt a spike of shame at how pitiful he sounded.

"House - Greg - you know that's not true. Your parents-" He couldn't help but scoff. His father would be having a field day telling him how worthless and pathetic he was. Wilson was determined though. "Cuddy-" At a time he was sure he could love her, perhaps even more than he'd loved Stacey, but it had never come to be and he figured, in the end, it had been for the best. "Chase," House was pretty sure there was no love lost between him and the Aussie. "Foreman," House was nothing more than a wrung on a ladder for the younger doctor, once he was gone, he'd move on. "Cameron." She had wore out her welcome long before she'd quit, but his resistance to change had been greater than his distaste for her. "Your new team." House didn't feel that even required much thought beyond darkly musing that the only reason they care is because his death means they were out of a job.

"They don't count." He commented softly. Wilson clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, preparing to make another statement on his friend's childishness. House continued quickly though, bringing his eyes up to meet soft brown. "They don't count because I don't care about them." The words on Wilson's lips died away and he was left with his mouth slightly agape, staring at, who he had been considering for the last three months, his ex-best friend. He suddenly felt a need to fix the damage he had done then, when he had taken their nearly twenty year relationship and thrown it away.

"I was so - scared." House was confused at the turn of conversation, but continued to listen. "I had loved her, and then just like that she was gone and I was devastated." He swallowed his nerves. "It sounds stupid I know, but, I realized that it hurt a lot when you lose something you love." He held his friend's gaze steadily. "And I just couldn't bear the thought of how utterly destroyed I'd be if it had been you." He released a poof of air, having said the words that he'd holed up for awhile. "So I pushed you away, I distanced myself from you, I figured if we didn't speak or see each other that the way I felt about you would just fade and I wouldn't be so open to being hurt."

"Idiot." Wilson chuckled at his best friend's response and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know." House smiled, but suddenly reality pushed its way to the forefront of his mind and he frowned.

"Don't let this destroy you." Wilson's smile faded as well as he remembered why he was talking to his best friend in a hospital bed, his face jaundice and his breathing weak.

"I don't know if I can help it." His eyes were watering as he thought of the time ahead when he wouldn't have his best friend to battle wits with, or unwillingly share lunch with, or even just veg out on the weekends with. He pressed his right hand to his eyes. "God, Greg…" With those two words House began aching, wanting a way to not leave his best friend. His entire life he'd believed that when you died, you died, there was no use crying about it. Now he was cursing himself for being so stupid; for allowing himself to play blind to the fact that someone loved him.

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy." He croaked, swallowing thickly.

"I know." They shared a grim look.

The atmosphere was broken by a knock on the glass door. It slid open revealing Taub and another man.

"Are we interrupting?" Wilson shook his head, waving his hand for them to come in. He moved towards the window in an attempt to hide his reddened eyes. "House, this is my cousin, Daniel. He specializes in wills and estates."

"Dr. House, I regret we couldn't meet under better circumstances." House didn't respond, instead turning his head and looking for Wilson who was looking out the window. Daniel hesitated for a few moments, looking at his cousin who just waved him on. "The process is very simple, I just need you to tell me what you wish to become of your possessions, assets, monies, I'll write it up and you can sign it."

"Everything goes to Dr. James Wilson." He spoke clearly and wasn't surprised when the oncologist spun around with wide eyes.

"House…"

"Wilson…" He mocked softly when the doctor failed to continue. "Who else would appreciate my Thelonius Monk LPs?" He turned to look at the lawyer. "Did you get that?"

"Are you quite certain…?" The lawyer began.

"Isn't there some law about not questioning dying men?" House said sneering at the lawyer. "Now get to it, I don't know how much longer I have." Taub gave his cousin a reassuring pat on the back as he led him out of the room, leaving the two friends alone once more. House watched the younger doctor for a few moments, seeing the pained squint in his eyes. "If you really don't want the stuff I'm sure my mom will take it off your hands."

"It's not that." He stated simply, looking down at his hands before a look of realization entered his eyes and he focused on House, no words being spoken for a few minutes. "Steve is going to get depressed."

The completely random statement made House wonder what his best friend was really thinking. It obviously wasn't about the emotional state of his pet rat.

"He's a rat. If I believed they had feelings I wouldn't be in this field of work." He kept his gaze steady on the oncologist, finding it interesting that at the point when Wilson would usually look away, or find something to do, the deep brown eyes stayed focused on him. It was slightly unnerving and led to a few beats of uncomfortable silence. "Is my epidermis showing?" The younger doctor chuckled softly and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I just realized that -" he shrugged pitifully. "-that I'm going to miss just seeing you." He shook his head, hooding his eyes for a moment. "I know it's completely sentimental and a "Wilson" thing to do, but bear with me - please?" House had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but as soon as those doe eyes opened and focused on him, the need to be witty died away. Instead he just nodded - which made his entire world begin spinning. He groaned and pressed a hand to his head. "Greg - what's wrong? Where's it hurt?"

"I feel…dizzy…" As if on cue the EKG went chaotic, a multitude of beeping sounds beginning as his BP shot up for the second time in as many days. He wasn't sure if his eyes were closed or if his vision had faded out, but he felt himself being jolted into lying flat on his back and there seemed to be a dozen voices calling out different orders he couldn't begin to make out. At some point it all went quiet and he realized none of his senses seemed to be working. Out of nowhere a memory of a vacation his mother and he had gone on, back while his father was still in service, drifted into the front of his mind. It would be his ninth birthday in a few days and his mother had taken him on a surprise trip to Disney World. She'd gotten them a room at a very high end hotel and had allowed him to order room service for breakfast on his birthday. Then they spent the entire day at the park until they'd been to every single show and ride he'd wanted. Then at 4 am, his mother woke him up and they snuck down to the pool so he could have the entire thing to himself. He remembered just floating on his back, staring up at the stars and feeling like everything was right with the world.

Summoned up by the memory, the feeling of peaceful, weightlessness flooded his body. Then it faded along with his consciousness.

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**The End**

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**A/N: I realize the ending is a bit abrupt, but I feel: thus is death. This was my first try at a House fic, and I tried desperately to keep everyone in character (mainly House) and make the changes in character believable. Hope you enjoyed. Til next time.  
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